


Of Alphas and MAtes

by Aubrey_Snape, Daina



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Anal Sex, Angst, Comfort/Angst, Cruelty, Emotional Hurt, Established Relationship, Family Secrets, Fights, Flashbacks, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Internal Conflict, Jealousy, Lies, M/M, Murder, Nightmares, Oral Sex, Past Lives, Past Torture, Revelations, Rimming, Romance, Secrets, Sexual Content, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 15:17:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3386492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aubrey_Snape/pseuds/Aubrey_Snape, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daina/pseuds/Daina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek and Stiles spent more than a year together, having faced all sorts of creatures and murderers, had finally had the time to set the record straight between them. To recognize that despite being totally different, they are made for each other. That’s always been true and will continue to be true for the rest of their lives.<br/>But something happens that neither could have anticipated; something that will change both of them. Something that will alter the future they had planned together and the older future will cease to exist. </p><p>***This is an English Translation of Daina's Of Alphas and Mates, with just a little bit of my own flare added in. She graciously let me translate her wonderful work. Thank you Doll.***</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Daina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daina/gifts).



Stiles woke in complete darkness.

It took almost a minute for him to realize that important detail because his whole body ached and his head felt like it would explode. Opening his eyes took minutes to accomplish, not wanting to set off fireworks in his head, he slowly blinked. Even when his eyes finally stayed open and he finally accepted that he was in fact fully awake, he couldn’t see anything. The cold ground beneath him told him that he wasn’t in his room anymore and the musty smell was definitely not the normal teen musk that normally filled the Stilinski home. These facts coupled with being unable to see anything made his heart pound. He moved his hands to feel the ground below him, not wanting to risk moving upright is there wasn’t room or if he were on a ledge. When he was confident in the ground under him, he moved to his knees, moving slowly to try and keep the pounding of his head down. When he finally made it to his knees, he had no better idea of where he was than he had when he was laying down, only that it was dark and cold.

“Okay, stay calm, Stiles,” He said to himself, as the suffocating feeling of a panic attack coming on. He began patting down his clothes frantically, desperate to find something, anything that would help him see. Although he had never smoked, he always kept a lighter handy because he never knew when one would come in handy, especially after it was effective with the defeat of Peter. He pointlessly shoved his hands in his pockets but knew before his hand even entered that there was nothing there.

Fortunately, whoever had it was that had taken him didn’t know who the hell he was and didn’t know that the inner pocket of his jacket was where his phone was. That discovery should have brought a sense of calm, calmed his pounding heart, but instead it was accompanied by another detail that made him freeze: the jacket and shirt he wore was sticky on the inside. The ground didn’t seem wet and it hadn’t been raining the last time he could recall being outside. He pushed that thought out of his head for now and placed his phone in his back pocket out of sight and carefully felt the shirt. The amount of wetness and the stickiness of his skin beneath the fabric could only mean one thing: his jacket and shirt were soaked with blood.

Feeling a swell of panic rise again, he felt gingerly around his chest and stomach and cried out in pain when his fingers brushed his waist. The wound felt deep and was more a gash than a scratch; the blood hadn’t dried and was clearly still actively bleeding. Now that he had noticed it, the pain of the wound was hard to ignore. Gasping in air he grabbed the phone from his back pocket, but terror and pain made his hands clumsy and the phone fell to the floor. He swore under his breath hoping that it hadn’t broken, since that was his only hope of a way out without blindly staggering his way out of wherever he was. He really didn’t want to meet whoever had taken him and definitely not before the calvary that was his friends decided to arrive. He held his breath as he pressed the power button and felt his heart skip a beat when the phone lit up. He almost had another heart attack as he waited for it to start up and another one when he had finished typing in his code. It was 3 am on Sunday, March 16. The last time he had been awake was outside the cinema to see the premiere of a movie on Friday. He had been unconscious for over 24 hours, in that time he had been attacked and kidnapped. He could be anywhere.

More frightened than he could ever remember being in his life, Stiles went into his recent contacts and tapped Derek’s number. Seconds passed while the phone rang, it felt like an eternity until he heard:

“Stiles?” Despite Derek’s voice in his ear, Stile felt more alone than before because being able to hear and know the person was on the other line was quite different when one was lost and abandoned in god knows where.

“Derek—“ Stiles said like a prayer, his voice cracking slightly.

“Where are you? Holy God Stiles, we’ve spent the last two days looking for you!” Derek replied.

“No—I don’t know—“ Stiles tried to say but his hands shook and each word felt like fire.

“How do you not know?”

“I—I can’t see anything—“ Panic closed up his throat against and he began to feel dizzy, the rushing of blood through his head made him lightheaded and added to his fear.

“Are you alone?”

“No—I don’t know—“ Stiles sobbed, aware that he could be alone with whatever attacked him. “I don’t know Derek—“

Fortunately Derek could hear the panic in his voice and realized demanding answers would only make things worse. “Don’t worry—We’ll get you out of there. Can you move?”

“M—Move?”

“Yes, are you tied up?”

“No—but I can’t see anything,” Stiles whispered, breathing hard with panic.

“Okay, okay, don’t worry,” Derek repeated, soothing Stiles despite the distance, Derek had been around Stiles enough to know what a panic attack sounded like. “Turn your mobile GPS on, when it’s on we’ll be able to find you. I can find you.”

“GPS?” Stiles asked stupidly, panic and fear making his brain stutter.

“Yes, connect your mobile GPS,” Derek said, showing rare patience.

“I’ll have to get off the phone, I can’t turn it on—“

“It’s okay, I’ll call you back—“

“No—no don’t go please,” Stiles begged, momentarily forgetting his task.

“Stiles—“ Derek said on a sigh.

“I’m hurt—“

“What?”

“I have a wound on my side, like a stab wound,” Stiles replied urgently.

“Stiles—turn the GPS on, nothing with happen, I promise.”

“Derek—“

“Stiles, listen to me, I will not leave you. You know I would rather die than let anything happen to you but I can’t find you if you don’t turn on the GPS. You scent has faded, we tried to find you by scent.” Derek stopped talking when Stiles gasped.

“Derek—okay,”

“That’s my boy—“ Derek whispered, waiting as Stiles turned on his GPS.

“I—I think that’s it,” Stiles said.

“Okay, let me see,” Derek whispered. “You’re by the old estate, about twenty miles away.”

“How’d I get here?” Stiles asked, trying to remember the blank spots in his memory.

“I don’t know but we’ll find out.”

“Get me out of here please, Derek, please—“ Stiles moaned.

“I’m on my way, I’ll be there in five minutes, wait for me,” Derek said, distant banging could be heard through Stiles’ phone.

“Don’t hang up!” Stiles cried. “Please don’t hang up, don’t leave me.”

“Never—“ Derek choked, “I’m going to put you on speaker so you can keep listening to my voice. The sound of a car door closing made Stiles’ eye tear up in relief. “Are you with me?”

“Y—Yes I’m here.”

“Keep talking Stiles.”

“I don’t—I don’t know what to say,” Stiles bit his lip; he was trembling hard and tasted blood in his mouth. “I’m scared.”

“Stiles Stilinski doesn’t have anything to say?” Derek teased gently. “Call the news. I’m on the way, I’ll be there soon.”

“I need—“ Stiles sobbed as he sat down on the ground, body trembling, “Need to feel you.”

Derek growled, the result of anger at not being with Stiles, not being able to help immediately. “I’ll be there before you know it.”

“Derek—“

“Breathe—“ Derek whispered, trying to soften the words so they didn’t seem like an order because if there was anything that Stiles didn’t respond well to, it was orders. “I need you to breathe Stiles, breathe for me.”

“I—I can’t—“

“Yes you can,” Derek urged. “You’re the bravest person I know, and I refuse to believe you’ll pass out from panic after the million other things you’ve been through.”

“But I didn’t have you—“ Stiles whimpered, trying hard to get oxygen into his lungs.

“And now you have me, I’m right here, you can hear my voice.”

“Yeah—Okay—“ Stiles replied, wincing around the tremor in his voice.

“I need you to do me a favor,” Derek asked, hoping to distract the other man.

“A favor?” Stiles questioned hesitantly.

“Yeah, I need you to give me all the details you can about where you are.”

“I told you I couldn’t see, my phone only lights up a few inches from me.”

“What does it smell like then? What do you hear?”

“Derek—I’m not a werewolf, I can’t sniff out a sweaty sock or hear miles away.” Stiles argued even as he listened as hard as he could.

“Just because you’re not  werewolf doesn’t mean you can’t catch something, human ears are still pretty sensitive, calm your breathing and try.”

“I don’t hear anything—“

“Try again, really listening.” Derek said, he remained as quiet as he could for a few minutes. “Take a deep breath and release it slowly. Dow it a few times, now when next you inhale concentrate on what you smell and say the first thing that comes to mind..”

A few second of silence followed Derek’s words until Stiles spoke, uncertainty heavy in his voice. “Wood—It smells like wood. Like what the carpentry section in Lowe’s smells like.”

“Are you sure?” Derek asked.

“No—I told you I wasn’t a werewolf but that’s the first thing that popped into my head,” Stiles snarked, pain, cold, and panic making him snappy.

“There’s a sawmill in that area, I’m pretty sure you’re there.”

Stiles heard him speak from his phone but he also heard his voice nearby him outside. “Derek!!” Stiles yelled.

Suddenly there was a faint noise; Stiles jumped to his feet, terror flooding his body. There was clang, closer this time like a door being open. He clapped his hands over his eyes, if whatever had taken him was coming back, Stiles didn’t want to see it. There was only faint rustling of clothes before muscled arms wrapped around him and pulled him into a muscular body. Stiles stared shaking against the body, not wanting to hope that it was actually Derek.

Derek felt Stiles’ body convulsing as the smell of terror and blood rolled in waves from the other boy. “I’m here, don’t worry, I’m here.” But there was no response from Stiles, just him trying desperately to get closer. Derek buried his face into Stiles’ hair and pulled in the scent that was buried under the terror and blood, an unfamiliar scent made Derek freeze however.

“Who have you been around?” Derek asked, his eye flashing red and his teeth lengthening.

“What?” Stiles asked confusion and fear still evident in his voice.

“Who have you been around?” Derek growled.

Stiles heard the alpha in Derek’s voice and moved back away from the other man, noticing the red eyes and fangs with rising fear. “I haven’t been with anyone but whoever took me Derek! I woke up alone and the last thing I remember was going to the movies with Scott.”

“You don’t smell like Scott, not even a little, you smell like another wolf.”

“I—I don’t understand, I haven’t been with anyone since I woke up,” Stiles said.

The alpha didn’t respond, but he jerkily grabbed Stiles’ shirt and yanked him forward. He pressed his face against the boy’s hair and tried to catch the scent again. “You’ve definitely been with another werewolf, I can smell them.”

“I swear, I haven’t been around anyone that I can remember except for Scott and now you,” Stiles replied, almost choking on fear again.

“Show me—“ Derek lisped around his fangs.

“What?” Stiles enquired, confusion marring his face.

“You said you had a wound, show me the wound,” Derek said, dragging him out of the area they had been standing in, through a warehouse, and stopping by the car. Stiles’ arm was dropped suddenly and Derek crossed his arms. Stiles raised his shirt and jerked his head up to look at Derek when the older man sucked in a breath through his teeth. Stiles remained silent as Derek stepped forward and touched the shredded skin gently.

“What’s the matter?” Stiles finally asked after watching Derek painlessly touch the wound.

“You haven’t been stabbed Stiles, you’ve been bitten,” Derek said, his voice serious and close to a growl.

“What?” Stiles yelped.

“You’ve been bitten by a wolf,” Derek repeated as he stepped back and looked at Stiles with sad, serious eyes. “There’s another alpha in the area, and he’s made you part of his pack.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

The marks on Stiles’ skin were gone by the time he got home, something that would have scared him if he hadn’t seen the same thing on Scott. As it was he was just tired, sore, and in denial. The attitude and manner in which Derek had left had left more of a stinging mark than any bite or mark to his skin. It was a mark of how little Stiles wanted to deal with his current predicament that he felt no pressing urgency to find out whatever information Derek obviously knew. The fact that another Alpha was hanging around Beacon Hills should have sent Stiles into a frenzy of researching, but instead it was just another thing that had happened tonight. Derek had come for him, sure, but after the initial comfort he had offered; Stiles had been kept at arm’s length treated with less patience than when he and Derek had first met.

Stiles took off his shirt and began the process of cleaning blood and dirt from his skin, the detachment and dead quality in which he did these two things probably should have concerned him but it didn’t. He caught his face in the mirror above the sink and he froze, he looked the same, if a little more haunted and tired. A sob escaped Stiles’ mouth before he could stop it, he was going to be a werewolf, HE was going to be a werewolf. The one thing that Stiles was never supposed to be was a werewolf. He never wanted this; he had never wanted to be anything but the 150 pounds of frail skin and sarcasm who ran with wolves. Now, now though he was one of those wolves, his fragile skin would heal and he would never get sick.

Stiles had accepted his role of smartass with a baseball bat that did the research for his supermodel friends that could break him in half. He has accepted Scott’s changes with more grace and understanding than Scott had. He knew that he was the technical support for the less than smart (Jackson) people in his company; he was the sarcastic, humor relief, and endless running mouth. Stiles had accepted that he would forever be the Robin to the Batman, regardless of Erica’s nickname, he was meant to be the sidekick, the hero that worked behind the scenes.

That had all changed now; Stiles had taken the hood like Little Red Riding Hood and became one of the wolves. The only thing that sucked the most about the situation wasn’t the loss of humanity, or the new control he’d have to learn, or even the callous, anger Derek was back to treating him with; no, the worst part was that he didn’t even have a choice in becoming the wolf in the fairytale. That choice was taken from him by whatever douche nozzle had abducted him.

Overall, Stiles just wasn’t ready to become a werewolf, which was ridiculous because he had been the rock of information and understanding when Scott got turned. Hell, he knew more about becoming a werewolf than more werewolves. There were positives to his new life change he supposed, Scott became captain of the lacrosse team and got a gorgeous girlfriend, admittedly that girlfriend was the daughter of a famous hunter but who was keeping score? There wasn’t really any need to worry, well except about the next full moon and how he’ll want to chew on his father’s stomach.

Oh god, his father. The sheriff. His father the sheriff that had guns and an uncanny ability to tell when Stiles was hiding something. How would Stiles handle his sudden lack of need for his ADD medication? Would he still get panic attacks? Would blood cause his to suddenly pass out or feel like vomiting up the last week of food? How embarrassing would it be to accidentally cut his own hand in the middle of a fight and pass out cold before the cut healed itself? A small hysterical laugh escaped his mouth at the image that situation called up. He sobered quickly however, when the idea of him eventually being forced to tell him father about his new changes, “Oh hey dad, by the way, I’m a werewolf, don’t worry we’ll save hundreds on medication and no hospital bills ever! Do you want Chinese or Thai for dinner?”

Yeah, that would go over about as well as his father finding him at multiple crime scenes had gone. Stiles shoved his ruined shirt in his backpack to dispose of tomorrow, lamenting the loss of yet another shirt thanks to werewolves. Then he went and flopped down on his bed, he made a mental note to talk to Scott about suggestions on how to deal with that conversation. Whenever and however Stiles’ father finally found out though, there would be a good while that would be devoted to convincing his father that he wasn’t crazy, but also trying to convince him that lying to his father had been necessary.

Of course, then he’d have to hide his father’s gun so that he didn’t hunt Derek down and shoot him full of bullets. Which really, this couldn’t have happened at a worse time because Stiles had just managed to convince his dad that Peter the Creeper was responsible for the murders, and not Derek the Loner. That had been a great conversation, “Hey dad, this is my boyfriend. Yes, I accused him of murder but that was just foreplay.” Going back to square one was going to be so much fun. Stiles groaned as he heard the front door open, the sound of his father’s footsteps pounding up the stairs made him stand and move to open the door.

His dad had already flung open the door and pulled him into his arms before his butt fully left the mattress and he found himself being suffocated by his father’s collarbone. Get taken, rescued, bitten, and then top it all off with dying by hug. “I’m fine dad, I’m okay.” Stiles said when he finally got enough air to talk.

“Who did this? Are you hurt? I’m going to find the little bastard and beat him so hard he’ll pee himself, then I’ll put him in a tiny little cell in Mexico,” His dad muttered, fretting over Stiles in a way only parents could.

“Dad—Dad, I’m okay,” Stiles reassured, trying to get released from the Kraken his father had turned into, but all that happened was his father tightening his grip. Stiles gave a sigh and just let himself be smothered by his father. He eventually returned the hug and buried his face in his father’s chest, letting the last two days wash over him. The smell of aftershave, gunpowder, and the all-natural smell of his dad wash over his senses, and the wash of safety that rushed through Stiles made emotion well in his throat. A sob escaped him and tears fell from his eyes as he felt his dad gently lead him towards the bed. The pair of them sat down side-by-side but Stiles found it impossible to not bury his face in his father’s neck and let the tidal wave of emotional roll out of him like a tsunami. His father let him cry for a while, until the tears dried and the only sound in the room was Stiles’ sniffles.

“Are you hurt? It’s not too late to take you to the hospital,” His father spoke, breaking the sensitive silence.

“I’m fine, I’m not hurt, at least not other than normal,” Stiles said, trying to reassure his father as well as himself. “Don’t worry, I wasn’t hurt.”

“Don’t worry?! Don’t—Stiles, you’ve been gone since Friday,” His dad’s voice was thick. “I didn’t know where you were or if you were even—even alive.” Stiles hadn’t heard the pain and fear in his father’s voice since his mother had gotten sick.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles apologized, swallowing thickly around the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry; I called for help as soon as I woke up. Other than sore, I’m fine, I promise, I’m okay.” Stiles repeated, hugging his father tightly.

“Who was it—Derek called but he didn’t tell me anything—Do you know where you were?” John asked, the comfort of police work washing away the rest of the fear in his voice.

“I don’t know who it was; I woke up alone in total darkness and didn’t waste any time getting out of there. Derek said it was near the old house though.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” His father asked, and Stiles felt a wash of shame at the hurt in his dad’s voice.

_Because Derek would get there faster and be more helpful, because Derek is untouchable and wouldn’t get hurt if his attacker was still around._

“He was the last person I had called, I didn’t know how much battery I had and I couldn’t see anything. I just called the first number I saw.” Stiles explained, hoping his father would understand. He let out a silent breath when his father just nodded, satisfied and his expression wasn’t showing hurt or disappointment.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Stiles said quietly, reassuring his father that he would always be first in Stiles’ life.

“I’m glad—I’m glad you’re home,” John responded. “I don’t know what I would have done if—if you—if something had happened.”

“Don’t think about it, I’m right here,” Stiles soothed. “Besides, someone has to make sure you don’t eat unhealthy things. Don’t think I don’t know about the French fries you’ve been eating.” Stiles scolded gently. He could smell grease and salt on his father, and he knew what curly fries smelled like.

His father had the good nature to look mildly ashamed though he sobered quickly, “Are you sure you’re okay? It’s not a problem to take you to the ER.”

“I’m good, dad, just hungry,” Stiles answered.

John laughed and stood up, “I guess that’s as good as sign as any, I’ll go make you some food.” His father embraced him again, clutching him tightly before patting his shoulder and walking down the stairs.

Stiles shoved his backpack under his bed before shouting down after his dad, “Don’t even think about ordering a greasy pizza!! Salad for you mister curly fries!!” His enhanced hearing picked up his dad grumbling about Stiles being a nag, but it sounded more fond than annoyed and Stiles grinned.

It was nice to be home.


End file.
